


i can't explain (but i want to try)

by huxleypearl



Series: i just can't pretend i'm not in love with you [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cop Car Confessions, Feelings, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, heavydirtysoul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huxleypearl/pseuds/huxleypearl
Summary: Ed’s leather gloves groaned as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What are you saying?”“I’m saying that you don’t want to kill me.”“That’s not true,” Ed snapped, but hesitation held his tongue for a beat too long. Oswald smirked.





	i can't explain (but i want to try)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from arctic monkeys' fireside.
> 
> i noticed that Ed didn’t cuff Oswald in 3x24, and i promptly added that to my pile of evidence called “a significant part of Ed REALLY REALLY didn’t want to kill Os” lmfao. also Os TOLD Fish he wanted to kill Ed, but like...sure, Jan.

All but glaring at the increasingly familiar road, Oswald knew exactly where Ed was headed. He leaned farther into the backseat and sighed loudly. Irritated, Ed asked, “What?” 

“What are you doing, Ed?” Oswald asked flatly. He rolled his tie pin between his fingers; Ed had discarded it on the floor.

“I’m driving a stolen police car. Then I’m going to shoot you,” Ed replied matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Oswald rolled his eyes.

Utterly unimpressed, Oswald clipped, “Forgive me if I’m a little disappointed.” He directed his best petulant stare at Ed’s reflection in the rear view mirror.

This gave Ed pause. Unable to bat away his curiosity, he asked, “Disappointed?”

“Well, let’s see. Despite having handcuffs at your disposal--the same pair I used to cuff _you_ \--you didn’t use them,” Oswald said, waving his hands around for emphasis. “You didn’t shove me into the trunk, so as far as _murders_ go, I’m basically riding shotgun right now. You had the opportunity--the chance of a lifetime, really--to shoot me in the street. I’m sure you could have even left behind one of your little riddles--”

“What’s black and white and red all over?” Ed taunted, smiling maliciously.

“Hilarious! I’m going to go with ‘my suit after you shot me,’” Oswald shot back, and Ed’s grin fell. _Good._

“But your amalgamation of poor choices begs the question: why? Why are you doing this? Don’t _you_ get tired of making ‘the same mistakes over and over?’” He pinched air quotes for emphasis.

Ed’s leather gloves groaned as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you don’t _want_ to kill me.”

“That’s not true,” Ed snapped, but hesitation held his tongue for a beat too long. Oswald smirked.

“You may feel like you _have_ to,” Oswald stated, his voice somewhere between amused and sympathetic ( _and reserved for Ed_ , he mused), “but I’m not convinced that you _want_ to.”

Wordlessly, Ed pulled to the side of the road. He shifted gears and placed the car in park. Twisting around, dark eyes locked with green through the partition. Ed threatened, “Do I need to convince you?”

Snorting, Oswald answered, “I bet I can guess how this is going to play out.”

“Is that so?” Ed challenged, but his usual bravado was slipping, his voice betrayed by a shiver of uncertainty.

Oswald, recognizing the insecurity, pounced. “We’re going back to the docks. You’ll shoot me and push me into the river. Once again, you will declare yourself _The Riddler,_ ” he said, practically spitting out Ed’s chosen alias, “and you will leave a godforsaken trail of green question marks behind. You’ll convince yourself it was because this city _needs_ to know that _you did it!_ You finally separated yourself from The Penguin!”

Eyes wide, Ed’s mouth opened slightly; he was searching for a response, and Oswald could almost hear the gears in his mind whirring. Refusing to allow Ed the silence to counter--to _think_ \--Oswald continued. “But we both know that’s not the truth! The truth is that this was never about your status in Gotham! The truth is that you’re doing this because you’re in _denial_! You _know_ you’ll _never_ sever our--,” Oswald hesitated to place the right word, but it rolled right off of his tongue -- “our _bond_ if we’re both alive! You couldn’t even do it when you thought I was _dead!_ ”

\-------

Momentarily at a loss for words, Ed--thundering heart all but exposed--stared at Oswald. The latter looked right back, eyes smug, and asked, “How’d I do, Ed?”

Ed licked his lips (and they both noticed that Oswald tracked the movement, but that was neither here nor there); he refused to concede that easily. “You… you may have guessed a few things correctly,” he said, before his voice darkened, “but there is no _bond_ to speak of. Not anymore.”

Oswald’s features shuttered for a moment--not angry, no, but bone deep sad--only to be replaced by a pair of quirked lips. With pressed fingers, Oswald held up the tie pin. “Where did you get that?” Ed demanded, louder than intended--a subconscious attempt to quiet the horror curling in his chest, a part of him noted with amusement.

Oswald chuckled. “Oh, Ed.” While maintaining eye contact, Oswald pierced the thick purple fabric of his tie. And that--that was how his tie had looked earlier, when he had first seen him at the warehouse--

“That’s--that’s _your--_ you knew,” Ed stuttered, head spinning with questions of implications-- _what else did Oswald_ \--, “you knew I would find it.”

“It was something of a literal and metaphorical linchpin,” Oswald elaborated, his fingers brushing over the red stone.

Knitting his eyebrows, Ed turned in the driver’s seat. He dipped his hand into the driver’s door pocket; he had hastily placed the gun there after pushing Oswald into the back of the car. While searching for the gun, his hand brushed against another object. Curious, he reached for it and picked up both items at once.

The mystery object was a cellphone. Hesitantly, he flipped it open. " _Fi_ _ve New Messages From: Ivy, VF, BP_ ” greeted him.

It was Oswald’s.

“You contacted them while I was unconscious. You hid your phone here so I wouldn’t find it on you,” he said, not having to read the messages to guess what had happened. Folding the phone, he asked, “Are they waiting for us at the docks?”

“Of course,” Oswald replied, a smirk gliding onto his face--but it lacked its owner usual pride. Ed nodded faintly.

Exchanging the cellphone for the gun, Ed inspected the barrel. Its emptiness did not surprise him. He shut his eyes, trying to center himself in the vertigo of his mistakes. Blankly, Ed remarked, “You wanted me to think I had the upper hand.”

“That’s right,” Oswald said. There was a shuffling of clothing; Ed looked into the rear view mirror to see that Oswald was removing _something_ from his trousers. Seconds later, bullets rolled onto the floor, the sound of each one mocking Ed as they hit the carpet.

“Why didn’t you just kill me, Oswald?” Ed asked quietly. He absentmindedly flexed his hands, an effort to reroute his nervous energy.

Oswald’s laugh was chokingly bitter; Ed shuddered at the sound. “Because I can’t. I thought I could, but every time I look at you... I can’t. I _know_ you, Ed.”

Dizzy, Ed pressed his fingers against his eyes. “What do you mean?” He was vaguely aware that The Riddler’s gravelly voice had been shelved at some point, but he couldn’t focus because _Oswald--_

\---

Oswald took a deep breath; Ed was looking at him, and _this was it._  They were going off script, but improvisation was how he earned his throne in the first place. Slowly-- _carefully_ \--he said, “You once told me that love is about sacrifice, that it’s about putting someone else’s needs and happiness before your own.”

“Oswald,” Ed warned, eyes narrowed.

“This isn’t what you think it is,” Oswald reassured, holding up a hand. He gulped before continuing. “You have caused me unimaginable pain. Sometimes, I think the pain helped keep me alive just as much as Ivy’s efforts did.

“But it took me being shot and thrown into a river--” Oswald felt a flicker of satisfaction as he watched Ed shift uncomfortably at that, “--and a lot of reflection since then--to realize that I inflicted the same pain upon _you_. That I broke _your_ trust. Words cannot express how deeply sorry I am, Ed.”

The line of Ed’s mouth flattened in thought, but he remained silent. Taking this as an indication to proceed, Oswald said, “You were right: love _is_ about sacrifice. I shouldn’t have interfered with your relationship. But in spite of everything that's happened between us, Ed, here’s the thing: I can’t picture my life without you in it, even if you hate me. Even if _I_ hate you.” He felt the beginnings of tears prick at his eyes, and he blinked away what he could--tearing his gaze away from Ed’s right now would be--

“Do you regret killing her?” Ed’s voice was difficult to read--but his _eyes--_

“I regret betraying you and lying to you,” Oswald answered honestly. Without giving himself too much time to think about it--because _now_ was the time and over thinking had already cost them both so dearly--he forced out the question that had haunted him since he had woken up at Ivy’s mercy: “Do you regret shooting me?”

Ed opened his mouth, and then closed it. He fidgeted with a cuff link. As the seconds ticked by--( _Sl_ _ow and painful_ , Ed growled and oh, for a second, Ed was holding him in the greenhouse)--Oswald became more and more aware of his heart humming and thudding in his ears.

“I don’t know,” Ed admitted, frowning. “I struggled to come to terms with the reality of my choice,” his mouth twitched at the memory of _something_ , “but I don’t know if I could have ever forgiven you otherwise, Oswald. I think you would have walked all over me if I never hit back. And I--I would have let you, too, and the resentment would have burned us both to ash.”

Well. Ed didn’t say _yes_ , but he didn’t exactly say _no_ either. Oswald offered Ed a small smile, appropriate for this small victory. “I can accept that. Thank you for your honesty.”

\----

Running his fingers through his hair, the confines of gel loosening at his touch, Ed sighed. “I really did have a difficult time accepting what I did to you. The finality never seemed… real. And it wasn’t, of course, because you’re here with me, but I didn’t know that.”

 _Here with me_ , he repeated mentally to himself; the implication weighed heavy. He knew they were _both_ storing that one for later.

“I had a feeling. Ivy found speed in the desk downstairs,” Oswald remarked, answering a question--one of the many that hung in the air between them--that Ed didn’t ask. Flinching, Ed averted his gaze; he thought he had been more careful. Oswald added softly, “You could have died.”

Ed huffed a laugh, low and acidic. “Yes, well, that _was_ part of the appeal,” he said, his body suddenly feeling cold. “I wasn’t going to go out of my way to kill myself, but I certainly wasn’t trying to cheat death.”

Oswald frowned. “Did those inclinations inspire your television debut?”

“Among other things,” Ed murmured, his eyes glazing over as he thought back to challenging Fox, dangling Bullock over the stairs, mocking the Court, escaping with Oswald, the safehouse--where he was consumed by red light, just like the hallucination--

With a blush creeping up his neck, Ed swallowed thickly. He felt Oswald look at him--too long to not have noticed. Mercifully, Oswald did not comment.

“I don’t think I was in love with her,” Ed heard himself say, and _god,_ he wanted to stop, but his lips kept moving. “I loved the _idea_ of her--what she represented. I don’t think she was in love with me, either. But we did care about each other, even if it was… superficial, I suppose.”

Oswald hummed, his expression remaining neutral. “That’s more or less what I thought,” he said, and Ed inhaled sharply, because _of course Oswald knew_.

 _Because there_ is _a bond between you_. Ed pulled on the edge of his jacket’s sleeve.

Heaving a sigh, Ed moved to open the car door. “I propose another truce,” he said, pushing the door open and stepping out of the car. He unlocked Oswald’s door and pulled.

Oswald’s eyebrows nearly graced his hairline. Looking up at Ed, he asked, “For how long?”

“I’ll let you decide, although given your penchant for melee weapons, I’m vying for something that lasts longer than thirty seconds. I have a lot to think about,” Ed offered, and he extended his hand toward Oswald--an unspoken olive branch. Oswald stared at Ed’s gloved hand before finally taking it, and Ed hoisted him out, paying careful attention to Oswald’s weaker leg.

They both held on for longer than necessary, neither wanting to let go quite yet; their fingers slid away at the same time, making the gesture seem all the more intimate. Oswald coughed. “Well… how about until we sort through this tangle between us?”

“That could take forever,” Ed deadpanned, and Oswald laughed. They considered a timeline in comfortable silence.

Picking at a decidedly imaginary piece of lint on his trousers, Oswald said slowly, “Suppose it does.” He looked up at Ed and fluttered his lashes and oh, _fuck_ , that look twisted something hot and familiar.

Ed cleared his throat, his chest and face feeling warm. He asked, “Are you…?”

“I’m not suggesting we just sweep everything under the rug and pretend nothing happened,” Oswald corrected quickly, much to Ed’s relief, “but I’m willing to… discuss things, sans weapons and looming death threats. If you want to, that is.”

“I would like that,” Ed said a little too quickly, and he felt color all but explode across his cheeks. For the first time in what felt like _years_ , Oswald grinned at him, bright and genuine. His smile highlighted the constellation of freckles Ed had always been oddly fond of, but was never willing to examine--or even acknowledge--until now. Ed was happy to reciprocate.

His expression softened. Carefully, Ed raised a hand to cup Oswald’s cheek. His breath hitched when Oswald did not flinch. Instead, he tilted his head into Ed’s touch and sighed.

“Oswald,” Ed said quietly, gently, “I missed you.”

“I know. I missed you too, Ed,” Oswald whispered, and Ed leaned in.


End file.
